


Expendable

by HeavensArcher



Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Character Study, Clint!Feels, I can't miss
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-17
Updated: 2012-08-17
Packaged: 2017-11-12 07:53:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 594
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/488492
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HeavensArcher/pseuds/HeavensArcher
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clint had no delusions. He knew he was only human. He knew he was expendable. He knew he could never miss</p>
            </blockquote>





	Expendable

Clint knew he was expendable. 

Sure, Stark often joked about being the same, how Barton, Romanoff and himself were representing the humans, but Clint knew that Stark’s intellect was a superpower in itself. God knows it had gotten them out of enough near-deaths to be seen as such.

But Clint? Expendable. 

He just a human. A marksman. A good one, sure, but he could name quite a few that were close if not on par with him. He could be replaced. 

Designation: Hawkeye. He’d been cocky at first, when he got that. He hadn’t chosen that, it’d had been given to him. That meant something right?

Pressure. That’s what it had meant. Unbelievable, unforgettable, _insurmountable_ weight on his shoulders to be perfect.  _Oh so perfect._

‘The Hawk doesn’t miss.’

‘I’ve yet to see a target he hasn’t taken down.’

‘I hear he’s  _actually_  part bird…’

He heard them all. Excellent hearing. Unparalleled vision.

For a human.

For an  _expendable_.

But he knew the longer he tried to live up to that stigma, the harder it became to expect imperfection. The longer he hung by a nail to that perfection, the harder it become for others to remember  _he was only human_.

So he woke early, went to bed late. Every waking moment in the range or sparring or running or climbing or improving his weapons  _because everything needed to be perfect or they’d realise he didn’t deserve to be here._

He’d hear the others joke about it. How he never relaxed. How he never joined in the ‘Modern Society Assimilation Nights’ of movie marathons and news reels and things that _he couldn’t waste time on because he needed to be perfectperfectperfect._

He’d join Natasha in the gym and spar with her for ages. Trying to keep up. He knew she was better at close combat that him, but he knew from the battle that even he could run out of arrows and he needed to still be of use or they’d realise he was just human. Just an expendable. He saw Natasha look at him every now and again, like she knew something was wrong. He had never been this bad before Loki, before Phil  _because, oh god, Phil had been his handler since he’d picked him up from an alleyway and told him there was something better for him and damn it, he always knew when to tell him to piss off home or drag him to his own apartment if he had too but now he was gone too and he needed to show Phil he could keep going despite no longer having his comforting voice in his ear on an Op._

So, he kept pushing himself, kept training, keep his arrows sharp and his bows clean. He didn’t think twice about falling from buildings or jumping inbetween someone like Cap and enemy fire. Because he was expendable.

His shots continued to fire off with a deadly precision and once or twice he saw the others looking at the slightly crazed look in his eye  _but that was ok because at the end of the battle he always heard the comforting ‘Nice shooting there, Barton,’ which meant he was still worth something._

So he doesn’t miss. He _can’t_ miss. He’s on a team with superhumans. His aim, eyes and ears were the only the only thing that made him special. His training was the  _only_  thing that made him special. If he wasn’t special, he wasn’t worth it.  _This_  wasn’t worth it.

So he doesn’t miss. 

Because that would make him expendable.


End file.
